Freedom
by Epona's Chosen
Summary: "Hermione is on her way to Hogsmeade when she gets involved in an argument with the one and only Draco Malfoy about house elves and freedom."


**Hello guys! Long time, no write - I know. I'm a terrible author. I don't even know what I've been doing. **

**Okay, this is from a collection of oneshots I have written with a group of four lovely people - we are each writing a chapter each. I wanted to share this with you in the hope that you would go over and give it - and the account - some love. We've only just started but we're planning on writing a multichapter. Yes. Laugh. I know, I've never completed a multichapter before - but I'm still trying. Anyway, I would LOVE it if you would go review, follow, favourite A Writers' Union for me. Please!**

**There is a link in my profile and I'll leave one at the bottom as well. **

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Hermione took a deep, cleansing breathe of the frosty, winter air as she stepped through the main doors and onto the frozen ground. Everything looked so sparkly and pretty, like it was dusted with glitter. A beaming smile crossed her face as she stepped carefully down the icy steps, for the first time not even slipping a little, and begun her walk to Hogsmeade. Earlier that morning she had seen Harry make his way there with Luna, something else which drew a smile to her lips and warmed her heart; Luna was good for Harry. She would have walked in with Ron but he'd grumbled something about it being cold and the game of chess was apparently far too important to leave.

Not that she minded being alone. She quite enjoyed it in the quiet, peacefulness of the winter months. It soothed and refreshed her and at the end of the day she could curl up with a good book in front of the fire. Heaven.

"All alone, little mudblood?"

Hermione sighed, her serene bubble burst, and faced Draco Malfoy. He was bundled up warm in a smart woollen jacket and matching Slytherin hat, scarf and gloves. Typical. Her own winter accessories were mismatched and her hat had been knitted by her mother several years ago – it wasn't perfect, but it was made of love.

"Did you knit that hideous hat, Granger?" he sneered, eyeing the pink and grey, bobbled thing that adorned her head holding her riotous curls in place with disgust.

"No, my mother did," Hermione replied coolly, "and it is certainly not hideous."

"Dear Granger, it is exceeding hideous. Not even a house elf who desperately wanted freedom would want it," he said cruelly. "Not that house elves want freedom at all, of course."

"Only because they don't know what freedom is like!" Hermione snapped back at him, her temper firing over his callous words.

"Granger, they _like_ serving us," Draco said, pronouncing each word clearly like it would help her understand.

"What about Dobby?" Hermione pointed out.

"Dobby... is an exception. He is under the assumption that Harry Potter is wonderful and great and perfect," he said with a scowl. "There are humans who like serving also."

"You mean like you, and your precious daddy?" She shot back at him.

"Shut up, mudblood," he spat. "You don't have any idea what you are talking about."

"I don't, do I?" Hermione jeered. "You are his puppets, a _servant_ of Voldemort; you might as well be a house elf for him!"

"Oh, and do you seek the same freedom for us then?" Draco said in a low voice.

"If a Death Eater sincerely wanted out then I would do my best to help them," she said, honestly. "However, like house elves, you are remarkably stubborn with your loyalties."

"All Slytherins are loyal; it's a trait of ours."

"Are you loyal to yourselves or your superiors?"

Draco was halted by the question. He lived in fear, he obeyed through fear. He was loyal to keeping himself alive. But, if anyone could get him free it was Hermione Granger. Yet, he was obeying the Dark Lord by keeping Hermione back and preventing her from leaving Hogwarts. Talking to her about freedom was loyalty to himself and his master.

"Well..?"

She was still waiting for an answer. "I certainly don't answer to you, mudblood," he sneered instinctively.

Hermione gave him a fierce glare and turned on her heel. "I don't even know why I'm wasting my time talking to you. Goodbye, Malfoy."

Draco reached out and grabbed her arm. "I'm afraid I can't let you leave, Granger," he said in a low and menacing tone.

She tried to pull her arm free, but frankly Draco Malfoy was a lot stronger than he looked. She was helpless as he reached over and pulled her wand from her pocket.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing, I just need you to stay put a little while longer."

Hermione growled in irritation and tried to tug her arm free once more before sighing and giving up. "Malfoy, let me go!"

"No, I don't think I will," he replied.

"Fine," Hermione grumbled.

"Thank you."

Hermione was waiting for his hold to slacken and for a horrible few minutes she thought he wouldn't. However, with a slight sigh of impatience, the hold on her wrist loosened slightly and with a sharp pull, her wrist came free of his hand.

And she ran.

Well, she tried too.

She only got a few feet before she was pulled backwards by some invisible force and almost stumbled backwards into his chest. She turned quickly, wanting to know what silent spell he had cast to make that happen but he wasn't looking at her.

He was looking up.

At enchanted mistletoe to be exact.

His eyes slowly dropped back down to hers and she could see the grey flashing with rage and disgust at the prospect of what had to happen next.

She can't say she felt much differently herself.

"This is your fault!" Hermione cried.

"My fault?" Draco said, offended. "It's magic. I had nothing to do with it. Why would I want to kiss mud?"

She turned, hearing commotion from the direction of Hogsmeade and glanced back to Draco Malfoy with large, worried but determined eyes. She had to get there. She had to help. She had to... kiss Draco Malfoy.

She stepped up to him, seeing the rage in his eyes turn to a form of nervousness like he wasn't sure what she was going to do. She steeled her own nerves, leaning up and pressed her lips to his. It wasn't hard nor soft, sweet nor fierce, just simple and fresh. She pulled away just as quickly, grabbed her wand from his hand and took off running.

Draco could only watch her go, his mind a swirling mess with only one distinct thought in it: she tasted like freedom.

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